


Illegitimate

by Iforgottocall



Series: The Pureblood Problem [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #hea, #healerhermione, #stmungos, Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty as a mf, Black Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is So Done, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, F/M, Healer Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Manipulative Draco Malfoy, Medical, Mentioned Narcissa Black Malfoy, No first names please, Polyjuice Potion, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Purebloods (Harry Potter), Sick Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Snarky Draco Malfoy, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weddings, You know the vibes, snarkylove
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iforgottocall/pseuds/Iforgottocall
Summary: Draco Malfoy discovers his parentage and pureblood status isn't as accurate as he thought. His ensuing blood disorder further calls into question everything he's ever known. Hermione Granger is looking for her big break and Draco is going to give it to her whether she likes it or not.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Series: The Pureblood Problem [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752532
Comments: 23
Kudos: 27





	1. Conception

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much Curly Kay for being a great alpha! You really helped me ground my ideas when I wasn't sure where to go with it. You have been a great first alpha. Thank you so much MRose and Anastacia for being amazing betas! I couldn't always see my own mistakes and needed your pair of eyes! You've been an amazing first beta :)
> 
> In the immortal words of Joshua Weissman, "Let's do this. Shall we?"

****

**Chapter One: Conception**

His favorite season had always been summer. He enjoyed the feeling of the rapid drop in temperature when the sun went down. Heat trapped in the ground rose to meet his heels as the cool night breeze swept his winter-fine hair about his face. The contrast in sensations- his warm feet versus the chill licking at his upper body - made a shudder crawl up his spine. It reminded him of his mother’s consistently warm arms rocking him gently while the house-elves fanned them under a shade tree. 

Tonight was midsummer night, but it had rained all weekend and there was no such sensation tickling his skin. He was dressed in classically tasteful dress robes of the softest silk, but he still felt weighed down and stuffed in as if he were wearing a winter parka. His eyes scanned over the assorted guests and accepted that only he was feeling such discomfort. The invited and uninvited guests ( _yes, Rita, you’re not fooling anyone in that ridiculous excuse for a disguise_ ) all appeared content and enviously cool in their finery. 

“Stop scowling. You’re frightening the ladies,” his father said.

Draco immediately rearranged his features into a mask of dignified boredom. His standard uniform.

He looked over at his father who nodded imperceptibly to indicate that his son’s visage was once again acceptable.

Draco held back a sneer. He had never detested his parents more than he did at this moment. He practically still a teen and here he was getting married to some Bulgarian rhinoceros in the name of _social awakening_ which was really code words for _“finding the richest and most influential blood traitor with international political clout and forcing a marriage contract on them_ ”.

His father had reminded him just this morning while tying Draco’s cravat entirely too tightly that such a “merger” would solidify the Malfoy’s international holdings for generations to come. Draco had pushed his father’s hand away and threw the cravat on the marble floor before storming off to have a fag on the balcony before eventually relenting and allowing his father to finish his work. Draco accepted being a political pawn in his father’s never-ending quest for dominance, but he refused to enjoy it.

If he continued to be a brat then no one would suspect that he’d accepted this life and this obligation. He had hundreds of little scars to remind him that a shackled life was better than no life at all. In the end, perhaps he was a coward, but he was a living one.

His father hissed in his ear again bringing Draco back to the present. Apparently, he’d been scowling again. He used to be such a wonderful little actor and he wondered where that version of himself had gone- now he could barely hold himself together long enough to smile and wave at the appropriate times. His father certainly didn't look pleased.

He shook himself again like a waking cat and firmly and fully placed his best public face. He graced the gathered guests with a winning smile that seemed to appease everyone in attendance. Before he could rub his practiced charm in his father’s face, the wedding music queued up. 

The sun was setting heroically behind the tall hedges that circled the Malfoy estate which provided a warm glow to the brunette bride floating down the long aisle. In a move that only appeared socially progressive, the bride donned a muggle-style wedding dress with a cathedral-length veil that was suspended off the ground by magically conjured white geese that honked in time with the wedding music. Naturally, the geese were all sporting little top hats that made the affair simultaneously ridiculous and infinitely more interesting lest Draco be bored to tears.

It was peak absurdity. The bride’s hair was twisted up rather elegantly if Draco were being honest with himself and her makeup was appropriately subdued and was fitting a Malfoy bride.

No, there was nothing inherently wrong with the bride, and didn't have any real reason to hate her as he did. She was no better or worse than any other girl his father could have chosen so he truly had nothing to complain about.

It was being a force-fed duck on his father’s elite table that shook Draco's soul and drove him to unparalleled rage. He’d never recovered from his father’s previous plots at furthering the Malfoy agenda despite the complete ruin that had brought on the family. To this day, Draco seized up whenever he even saw a creature that remotely reminded him of a snake without turning tail and running away.

All too quickly, the honking bridal party ended their song as the bride’s elegant foot hit the dais. Vladamira was a passably pretty girl with thick features that emulated her father’s a bit too much for Draco’s taste. She spoke more English than she’d ever let on which may have been the only thing he actually admired about the woman. She was achingly dull with little interest in anything that wasn't charity work. _Obviously,_ his mother adored her and couldn’t understand why Draco hated the woman so much. 

He'd known upon first meeting the Vladamira over dinner that he loathed the bint with all his being. She chewed her chicken as though it had been her personal companion that deserved all the tender care and respect in the world. She took tiringly small bites of her fabulously prepared roasted meat and chewed on it with the determination of an old mule. His bride refused to drink the excellent Cabernet he'd bought and refused to take any illicit potions with him and even swore she'd get him to stop drinking once they were married. Him!

He decided then and there that he'd ship her off to their French summer house once she'd produced the heir and would be thoroughly done with her. She could put on as many web-footed duck charities that she wanted so long as she did it from a few countries over. He bet she'd even look good from a few hundred kilometers away. 

His bride was holding out her hand to him and he took it with practiced care which brought once again to the present. He'd never been one to daydream but apparently today was the first time for everything. 

She smiled at him with her full teeth and he could see his mother simpering and sniffling from the corner of his eyes. _Bloody hell...what a peacock festival._ He nodded with composed grace at his bride before leading her toward the center of the raised platform adorned with enchanted roses and ivy. The officiant, a man who reminded him of a toad after a drought, held the wooden binding beads in both hands. The officiant gestured for the two of them to clasp both hands together which they did immediately. Draco noticed, as the man wound the beads around their wrists, that the officiant’s flabby neck bulged and retracted with every breath like a scaly balloon inflating and deflating in an endless, grotesque cycle. 

A small giggle brought his attention fully and finally to his bride. She was also shifting her attention from their clasped hands and the officiant. While the minister turned to put on his metal bifocals, his bride made a _ribbit_ sound so slight that even a floating cat hair could have made off with it in the wind. She flicked her dark eyes up to him and he found a sly smile on her face twinning his own. He squeezed her hands with a fraction of his available strength and he saw her eyes widen prettily before she squeezed his hands in return. 

The ceremony official cleared his throat bringing the assembly to his attention. He unfurled a short scroll that was crumbling with age. “I am here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic and have been given appropriate authority to officiate these proceedings. I take this office quite seriously and have the honor to pronounce all lawful marriages validated.” The officiant’s voice was croaking and raspy which Draco supposed went well with his bloated chin fat. The officiant cleared his throat again as he turned his attention to the scroll, his preamble now sufficiently executed.

“I will now initiate the ‘Blessings of the Dragon Hands’ which will seal the binding between these two souls in the tradition set by Acacius Malfoy. I shall begin...now,” The man swept his bulbous eyes across the gathered crowd to ensure that he had properly spun the suspense. “The hands you now hold will this day forward be as dear to you as your own limbs. These are the strong hands that will hold you today, tomorrow, and beyond. These are the hands that will sweep away your sorrow and…” 

Draco allowed the man’s voice to float just past his mind’s eye as he staunchly ignored the ceremony. He felt a longing for those marital words to beat inside his own heart in such a way that his intended would feel the pattern in her own thumping chest. Simply, he wished he was getting married today to a woman he loved. Vladamira was smiling lightly with blushing cheeks but her heart seemed to be pitter-pattering as normally as it ever did. He could feel the calmness in her body as he felt her slow, collected pulse and her cool, dry hands; she cared as little about this wedding as he did. Draco mentally shed that silver-tongued thought from his mind and refocused his attention on the officiant sealing his unhappy fate. It would do no good to get into strop because his bride didn't want him either. 

“You shall be as one soul split between two vessels. The purity of your bonded blood will continue in the dynasty of power that has propagated for over 10 consecutive generations in the Malfoy family. If you both accept this blessing, please repeat: “ _Louange aux purs_ ” as one.”

Dutifully, he repeated, "Lounge au-"

The sun had been laminating his robes to his sweat-slick skin for the better part of an hour. He had felt stifled around the collar as the marriage noose tightened around his delicate throat, but now he felt too breezy, as though one shake of a tree branch would carry him away. This feeling was coupled with the inability to finish his prayer; the french binding words stuck in his throat. It was as if the world around him was grounded and tangible but he was a bubble flying higher and higher into the atmosphere until he popped. 

Draco only realized that his lightweight feeling was outwardly observable when he heard the prim and proper garden ladies shrilly crying and heaving unbecomingly while their husbands held their own handkerchiefs to their noses in curious disgust. It was only when his father yanked Draco into his arms while apparating them away did Draco notice that he was bleeding from every orifice. His blood-spattered bride had fainted dead away. His last glimpse of the assembled party showed the bride’s family stalled in abject horror while his poor mother clutched her chest in unspeakable fear. Draco himself was unsuitably calm as he finally acknowledged his body was flushing out his blood like a gothic fountain. 

* * *

Hours later, Draco found himself fighting the sleeping potion his father snuck into his drink while trying to untangle the web of events that led him to this state. The minimal information he’d pulled from his father was already starting to vanish from his mind. Draco knew that what he’d learned was vitally important that he desperately tried to recall the memories like a man ablaze searching for water. He suspected that the sleeping potion did more than just knock him unconscious…

_Hours earlier_

His mother- the woman who once lied directly to the Dark Lord’s face with an unassuming smile, was now crying hysterically. The sight was so foreign and unnatural that Draco simply stared at her in bemused shock. From the corner of his eye, he could see his father sitting like an old willow tree taking root into the new, savage ground. His presence was monumental and ravaging. His father had the towering fervor about his tight jaw that could make Draco drop to his knees and beg for allegiance. His father was more dynamic and domineering than the Dark Lord was on his best days. His father was silent and thinking and that within itself was an unbelievably dangerous thing. 

“Globby,” his father whispered although his soft voice was sharp enough to cut stone. The small house-elf appeared with an equally subdued pop. His father did not turn to acknowledge the hunkering creature by his knee and spoke into his wine glass instead. “Take your mistress into her private quarters and administer a strong dose of her calming teas. You know the ones.” The elf nodded and took his mistress’s impossibly soft hand in his rough one and disappeared as quietly as he had arrived.

Still staring darkly into his goblet, Lucius addressed his boy. His father’s voice was thick and silky with alcohol. “You are my heir. You have the cleanest blood I could procure. You are _mine_.” The subdued pops of fire sparking in the fireplace were the only light in the room. Father and son sat plastered to their seats while they listened to hissing and crackling flame behind them.

Soon the heat of the fire began scorching the cold tension between them until Draco could sit no longer. He stood and began pacing across the room. He was a trapped cougar waiting to be released. His father said no more. Draco bit back the stinging snarl licking at his lips; his father’s declaration rocked him of orbit. He was prepared to hear a multitude of explanations, but this was a bomb he didn’t know he’d triggered. He stood taut like a bow string-waiting for the anvil to fall. 

“Your mother and I had 4 miscarriages before you. We were desperate for an heir. So much so that we sought out the muggles to assist us after every magical avenue had been exhausted....” his father trailed off and his eyes looked blown and wild like they were during the last months of Voldemort’s reign. “We discovered that she and I… were both infertile,” Lucius whispered the last few words as though afraid that he spoke any louder, the truth would take flight and spread its hateful wings about all of Europe so that everyone could gawk at Lucius’s private shame. 

Draco was less surprised by this revolting revelation than his father would have expected. The fertility challenges amongst purebloods were the worst kept secret in all of the seven wizarding continents of the world. Volume after volume in the dingiest corner of private libraries was filled to the hilt with such information. However, the implications for his own personage were astounding.

“What am I?” his voice came out like a buried trunk drug up from the murkiest depths of the Black Sea. 

“You are my son.”

Draco flinched at the ice-wedge skewering his father’s tone. It was the tone his father often had when Draco was a boy still testing the limits of his father’s patience. 

“Biologically -as the muggles say- you are my child. I certainly paid enough for that to be so.”

The young wizard had never in all his life felt as unassured as he was at this moment. His father was weaving one of his many webs that left the recipient arse-backward and apologizing for having been stepped on. 

Draco was snapped from his internal review by a commotion on the floor above his own. He heard a shattering clatter of thin, breakable items and a tangle of half-whispered apologies, and the distinct sound of several house elves punishing their heads against plaster walls. He still lay prone atop his bed with his soft calfskin dress shoes still hovering over the bed skirt and rumpled robes swimming about his person. He heard his mother’s screams echoing like the chapped hooves of a clan of unicorns and the not quite sound of his father’s stocking feet hastily padding across his mother’s rooms. The feedback sonata strumming between his mother’s cries and his father’s pacing was the lullaby that used to rock him to sleep as a boy. Now, it made him dig his sharp teeth into his cheeks. 

Later, Draco awoke with blood still coating his nostrils and mouth. He spat frantically onto the marble floor without caring. He stopped suddenly and looked at the red smears covering the white and black marble. The blood made speckled patterns on the floor that put him in the mind of the blood coating the dining room floor as his father stammered to the Dark Lord to please spare his only child. His mind then dove into the less distant past and he had to hold his head in his palms to keep from swaying. His father’s wine fractured confessions peppered his waking mind into oblivion. He slept yet again...forgetting the words he knew were important.

* * *

Draco did not wake normally so much as he crashed into consciousness. His feet were pounding onto the floor before his mind fully calculated the proper mechanics of standing upright. He fell into a heap of red-stained robes and wet blood-red saliva that he only somewhat remembered spitting on to the floor the night before. He dropped his head into his palms as the tangy aroma of copper swathed him like a quilt. The smell grew more pungent as he breathed in deeply until he found his nostrils clogged and sticky. His hand rubbed angrily at his nose and as he pulled his fingers away, he saw the blood smearing his wrist. Before he could rationalize it, Draco was stumbling into his walk-in wardrobe before collapsing before his charmed mirror. 

“Never has blood dripped so elegantly onto an ensemble as it does for you, Master Draco.” The mirror chirped cheerfully. 

Draco approached the mirror with blossoming tremors. His shaking hand jabbed at the mirror until the sheet cracked under his knuckle. The happy mirror's voice juttered and sputtered as it frantically continued to shower Draco in glowing praise. Draco pulled his hand back to his chest as he stared at his millions of bloody reflections gazing back at him. 

Each crack in the glass reminded him of the deep, oozing gashes crisscrossing his chest years ago in the boy's lav. He turned away from the mirror as his body trembled. His neck was suddenly too fragile to hold up his head causing him to hit his skull on the stone floor. A small leaking sound escaped his mouth before everything went dark. He doubted as he had all those years ago in the prefect’s bathroom that anyone would run to save him. 

* * *

  
  


The smell of vinegar-soaked gauze and licorice sweet potions swaddled his nose. The second sensation that came to him was the knocking against a far-off wall and the agitated whispers of mediwizards calming either a spasming human or a very spastic thestral. In his mind’s eye, he scowled evilly. _How dare the medi-wizards not control their patients? Clearly, he was in St. Mungo’s where adequate professionalism was woefully la---- wait. St. Mungo_ s? His eyes snapped open as full awareness grabbed at his befuddled mind. 

His gaze was met with complete darkness save for a sliver of light peeking out from under the closed door directly in front of him. Being a young man of certain means, Draco was not completely unused to waking up in strange places with even stranger people intertwined with his person, however, the thick straps woven over his upper body and the unforgivably stiff mattress underneath him signaled a less than pleasurable turn of events. 

Before he could fully stop himself, he began thrashing against the restraints on his body like a plebian. Wasn’t this the very same behavior that had awoken him only moments ago? He did not have long to contemplate his actions as the darkened door ahead of him swung open with restrained enthusiasm. Before he could open his mouth to respond in a way that would be completely inappropriate for the occasion, a school of healers swam into his unidentified room. They threw spells at him like battle-worn soldiers and the air in the room crackled with the brashness of their combined magic. 

An older woman who somehow looked like both a baby mandrake and a poodle simultaneously appeared to inspect the chaos the other healers were causing with calm irritation. She barked at the others who immediately shrank back at her shrill tongue lashing. She parted the crowd like a queen and glided over to Draco. He looked at her with all the aristocratic disdain that was physically available to him. 

“I presume you are in charge of this _capable_ crew?”

She raised an eyebrow that could rival his own. She brushed aside his question without comment. “I am Healer Aloeme. I am pleased to see that your mental faculties seem to be in order. Your condition seems to have stabilized over the evening.”

“Indeed,” he drawled, “ Might I inquire as to why I am strapped to this bed like a rabid dog?”

“Because you behaved like an unhinged beast when you were admitted.” The room seemed to echo her last words uncomfortably and Draco, too shocked to respond, looked at her in genuine confusion. 

The healer cleared her liver-spotted throat before snapping her wand out of her sleeve like a whip. “Now then, I have unfortunate news to deliver to you and I suppose,” she paused while pursing her lips in his general direction, “that now is as good a time as any.”

“Do go on. The wait is truly scintillating.” Draco put his fists under his chin and batted his eyes prettily determined to have the last laugh.

Healer Aloeme smiled darkly before widening her stance. Her supporting healers looked nervously between the two wondering who this battle of words would kill first. “Mr. Malfoy, I have the true displeasure to inform you that you are suffering from an unknown ailment. Your blood appears to want to leave your bodily presence as eagerly as I do. We have managed to put your bloodletting in stasis,”

“You unprofessional hag. My-”

“Your father will hear of this?” another attending healer whispered from somewhere in the accumulated crowd. Draco swiveled his head around to catch the offending idiot but found that the supporting healers all held tight, professional expressions as they closed ranks. Healer Aloeme scrunched her nose at the comment but did not speak on it. He held himself from grumbling that was NOT what he was going to say. He wasn’t eleven for Merlin’s sake. 

“Sir, as I was saying, the stasis has momentarily held your blood inside your body like a stopper of sorts. That within itself is a temporary solution to whatever affliction is causing this display. We have recently discovered that keeping your blood inside maybe even more dangerous than letting it flow. To put it simply, your blood is now poisoning your body. I can only assume that your body was attempting to throw out this bad blood when you had your first event.”

Draco was stunned speechless for the second time in a short matter of time. Bad blood? What a ridiculous proposition. They couldn’t actually be serious. He scanned the crowd and saw that all the healers now wore the clinically detached version of pity. He wanted to spit their pity back in their faces.

“You need specialists to patch up this problem. Send for whomever you need. I can assure you that money is not a concern.”

“We have already dispatched some medical experts. Your father has already paid their fees. However, that may not be enough. I must tell you that your body may shut down before we can discover a safe cure.”

“Then give me an unsafe one. I don’t care!”

“That is enough Draco.” Draco heard his father’s silvered tinged voice at the door. “Please allow me a moment with my child. He’s overexcited.”

The healers filed out silently except Healer Aloeme. She walked fluidly over to Draco as if to inspect some reading above his head. She scooted into his personal space while flourishing intricate spirals into the air, watching as the readings changed to his most up-to-date vitals. She did not look at him and he could not even be sure if she even moved her lips, but he heard her harsh staccato whispering to him, “Your father would not allow me to call the one expert who may have a chance in hell of helping you. If you're anything more than a blood-loving fool, owl Hermione Granger.”

In the next breath, she was gone. His father looked after the woman as she swept past. He looked at Draco with a tight nod before commanding, “Get some sleep son. You’ve had enough to say for one day,” before following in the healer’s footsteps and sweeping away as if never really there. His father blew out the candle lights as he went leaving Draco in complete silent darkness. 

He sat quietly for a moment, listening to the soft feet shuffling in front of his door. The quiet whispers of wizards discussing hopeless patients and the summoning of family members crept under the slit in his door. Quietly, so quietly did the thought sing into his mind, “This is the ward for the nearly dead and the soon to be dying. Welcome to the end, Draco.”

His room was instantaneously too large as the soft cries and pitiful tears spilling underneath his closed-door splattered about every surface like congealed blood. The sterile walls began inching towards him while silently slipping a jagged rope around his neck. He could no longer breathe. With a quickness that his body was not ready to exhibit, Draco threw off his medically- standard bedding and stumbled towards the small, draped window to this left almost losing his footing several times. He pulled away from the draping before clawing the latch open. He popped his head through the opening and began wheezing in the pure night air. He clapped his hands over his mouth after he heard the first stuttered cry tumble from his mouth to the wind.

Below him, well beneath his 11th-floor window, Healer Aloeme was creeping along the back gate of the hospital. The healer constantly looked about her although she had already cast a “Notice Me Not”. The healer’s breath came out in short. labored puffs that would have been unheard of in her younger days. The sharp pains shooting up her backside was a further reminder that she was almost at the end of her strength. It was time to retire and let the girl fully take over her spot. The old healer noticed that even her temper was stretching too thin these days and her authoritarian grip too loose. Ten years ago, no subordinate would have dared pull a stunt like that in the Death Eater’s room even if Aloeme could barely stand his pig-headed presence herself…

Soon her thoughts were backed against the gate that she’d finally reached and she was forced to cast them aside in favor of her imminent exchange. In the moonlight, another woman who wore Aloeme’s face waited for her on the other side of the lattice gate with tapping feet and a hooded cloak. Healer Aloeme quietly slipped open the lock ushering the other woman inside while letting herself out. As soon as the two switched places, they each grabbed the gate bars separating them and pushed them shut before staring at one another for a beat too long. The twin sounds of the words “Thank You” were heard. 

The new Aloeme sprinted back towards St. Mungos throwing her cloak in her signature beaded bag. The new Aloeme stopped as her hands reached the back liftgate that would usher her back into the Imminent Ward with no one the wiser. New Aloeme did not have a moment to lose but the sound arrested her momentarily. She’d heard something floating through the air that sounded a lot like a baby bird flapping broken wings in a futile survival attempt. It made the healer shiver although the night was warm. 

  
  



	2. Conception II- The Art of the Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information is revealed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank Curly Kay, Wish123 and Anastacia enough for their beta, alpha and everything in between help! This would not be half as good without them! And any other errors are definitely on me!

“Good Morning,” an aged voice said, “Apologies, it’s actually noon.” 

He growled lightly before turning his body towards the wall and away from the annoying voice. The person continued to flit about his room casting cleansing charms and opening the drawn curtains; swarming the room with light. Draco put his pillow over his head to negate the sun rays. 

The liver-spotted voice waltzed his way again and recognized it as that of the head healer “I need to run some diagnostics, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll need you flat on your back and preferably alert.”

“Come again in an hour.” He commanded.

The voice sounded less polite this time. “This is your time-allotted diagnostic check. It’s on your schedule chart.”

“Clearly I didn’t read it and I obviously don’t care. Later.” Draco’s insides were afire and he only felt reprieve during sleep. Without warning, Draco found his body swiveled around with his front facing the demented Aloeme. He began to object and move his torso when he found that he was unable to utter a word or wiggle a single digit. Healer Aloeme was frowning at him whilst twisting her wand in delicate, swooping patterns. Despite his ire, Draco silently admitted that the delicate wrist flinging about spells was enchanting and hypnotizing unlike her cold demeanor yesterday. Before his thoughts could stray, the constricting spell was gone and he could move again.

“I’ve hexed men for less than that you know,” Draco conversationally declared. He loved to play with his food before devouring it and this woman was big game if he ever saw it.

Healer Aloeme cocked her head sideways, mutely appraising him. Her lengthy stare calculated something about him. When she snapped her head back, he knew whatever she’d found told her he wasn’t worth much, because she brushed his theat aside. “Of that I have no doubt, Mr. Malfoy. Yet, I find myself blatantly unconcerned. Your next vitals check will be promptly at 6 pm. You _will_ be ready and alert.”

Hoping to ruffle her, Draco countered,“You’re quite bold for someone of an advanced age.”

The healer fired back and her eyes twinkled youthfully--frighteningly so, “Perhaps that is my advantage. I have no care for the words of small boys.”

“Doubtful. You know with one word I could ruin your career and then how would you survive without income?” Draco was shocked to hear the slightly teasing lilt to his voice; flirting with the ancient healer had not been what he’d intended even if she reminded him of someone 100 years younger.

The old woman smiled at him with her entire face and he noticed that her hazel eyes had taken on a darker edge as though someone had slowly begun infusing them with chocolate. He was startled to find that even her almond-shaped eyelids had rounded out. It reminded him of how the static on a recently turned on wireless radio slowly crystallized into a clear sounding recording. 

And that thought called him back to the war when he’d sit cross legged listening as the wireless listed the names of the newly dead. His leg pistoned up and down underneath the dining table. He was anxious to be dismissed so he could turn on the radio program, listening for _one_ name every evening. The name he prayed he’d never hear called. A name he could never speak of aloud. A name that sounded just as intriguing as the shape of this healer’s eyes. 

Draco’s reaction must have told her he was spooked because she immediately stopped smiling and turned away from him as she rubbed at her eyes. “Ahem...yes well, I must review your current diagnostics with my team. We hope to have some information for you very soon. Good day.” She stomped towards the door with the clickty-clack of heels signaling her exit. He quietly ruminated on the unique sound her heel’s made against the marble floors for a long time.

It was late afternoon when his door opened again. It was not his father. It was not even his mother. It was a shuffling orderly bringing him his lunch. “How old is the head healer?” Draco asked in lieu of a polite overture.

“Aloeme?” Draco nodded yes, “I can’t rightly say but I’d guess at least 200. She was old when my parents worked here and that was twenty years ago.”

Draco could not for the life of him account for an old woman wearing heels even if they were relatively low. It just wasn’t something a woman of that age could do for hours at a time. He knew she had been wearing them all hours because he'd heard her footfall outside his door as though she were pacing in front of it at least twice per day, afraid to deliver whatever new information she’d discovered. He’d heard his father’s voice mingling with hers on one such occasion; from their frantic whispering, it was clear they knew something he did not. 

Spending his free time staring at the crack underneath his sick room’s door, Draco became quite adept at categorizing the sounds various feet made as they passed by his door. The thick, slow thudding steps of thick soled Mungo’s distributed shoes signaled that a head healer was slowly walking from room to room taking out the patient’s medical charts engraved in the patient’s room door. 

The skidding, flappy sound of squeaky new boots indicated an orderly or healer in training often bustling through the still hallways as though desperately attempting to outrun their own missed morning alarms. Draco wrinkled his nose. Their voices were the worst if he had to catalogue and critique the whispers he heard. The newbies were always screeching to one another to, “Clock in before Aloeme catches you. I mean there goes your recommendation letter if she does.”

And then, speaking of the woman, there was Healer Aloeme. He had taken a notice to the strange pattern of her footfalls. In the late evenings/ early mornings, she wore sensible kitten heels that tick tocked across the marble floors like well oiled grandfather clocks. In those moments, her feet faltered every so often as if the shoes were brand new and she kept losing her balance. Mid afternoon Aloeme wore leather loafers that had obviously been cushion charmed. Those footsteps were sure if not a little wilting as if the shoes were the gatekeepers struggling against a violence spinning mob. But with absolute certainty that she’d get the job done right. 

And then after three days, finally the footfalls that resounded in his head stopped dead in front of his door. Silently the door opened. The fluorescent track lighting was placed just so behind his father’s body in such a way that gave him a light halo. Draco had a distinct feeling that his father had charmed the lighting to fall in just this way: a god collecting his fallen progeny.

His family was aristocratic from the head of the tapestry to the hem, however he found that his father had abandoned those perfunctory platitudes.

“Draco,”

“Father.”

His father gripped his cane. Not in any imitation of fear or stress but in a move that caused his upper half to lean slightly forward giving the older man an astounding presence.

“Ah,” Draco thought to himself, “A power play. Classic technique if not a little stale.” Draco quirked an eyebrow in return with the very same features he’d stolen from his father. 

Slowly, the older man pulled his body upward as he took his weight off his cane and stood erect; Lucius had been testing him. Draco had passed. His father righted himself before gliding over to the bedside chair. Draco won that round but he had no idea how badly he was about to lose the entire game.

“I see no reason to stand on ceremony so I will give you my report succinctly. Are you ready?”

Those words echoed in Draco’s head and he was brought back to being a small boy peeking into his father’s study through a tiny crack of light left by leaving the door slightly ajar. His father was studying mountains of papers- contracts most likely-but slowly moved his head in such a way that acknowledged his peeping child. “ _Come here, Draco. Your mother has told me of your naughty treatment of little Gregory. You will be given five marks in punishment. Are you ready?_ ”

And then another moment, _“The Dark Lord commands this of you, Draco. Your mother will not survive with me in jail and you murdered like a dog. You will eliminate the target and open the school. I will teach you how. Are you ready?_ ”

Finally, “ _The marital commitment to Miss Greengrass has been dissolved. Their shareholdings were cashed out as amends for their betrayal to the Dark Lord. You will cease all contact; I will not brook disobedience and no, I don’t care that you’ve grown fond of her. A new merger-marriage has been created and it will be fortified after your graduation. Are you ready?_ ”

Draco closed his eyelids like window dressings as his memory massaged those hurtful moments into the forefront of his mind. Spitting back a reply was his first thought; his father did not deserve his civility. However, if Draco wanted a chance to exit the penalty box that was not the way to approach the game- only cool headed strength would prevail. “Yes, father. I am ready. Tell me the report.”

“Your body is attacking you. More specifically your blood is being rejected by your bodily organs causing it to funnel out of you through any open orifice.”

“The treatment will be expensive. I will release the majority share of Nott’s company in exchange.” Bartering was the Slytherin way: nothing came freely.

“That is unnecessary.” Lucius replied.

Draco’s heart surged with surprise. His father hadn’t given him anything free of charge in quite a long time. How refreshing. “Thank you, father...” 

“A cure isn’t even available. Losing shares wouldn’t solve the problem”

“ _Oh_. Of course.” Draco thought silently.

His father had gotten up from his chair and had emerged next to Draco’s bedside, staring at his son. Lucius looked at him as though he’d never seen Draco before. 

No. Draco realized; his father looked at him as though seeing a victim he’d previously crushed between his manicured toes come back to life. An apparition that Lucius wished to shovel underground.

“I can’t bear to look at you,” His father curled his lip before turning away, “I will correspond by owl when an appropriate course of action has been discussed.”

Feeling exposed, Draco pulled his thin coverlet up to his chin and nodded to his father’s broad back without uttering a final remark.

Draco did not get a second to compose himself before his next visitor arrived. It was 6 pm and Healer Aloeme was prompt. She stomped into the room and began slashing her diagnostic wand left and right as though cutting an assailant to pieces. Healer Aloeme did not engage Draco in small talk and chose to keep her hazel eyes above his head. She silently shook her head in greeting before stiffly exiting the room. Draco was curious now. He called out to her, listening for the distinct pattern of her heeled footfalls. It was still her midday sound, not her evening one. He heard her pivot on the ball of her footl, trudging back to him.

“You rang, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I believe you owe me a diagnostic report.” Healer Aloeme blushed at her own oversight- blushed like a schoolgirl! 

“Yes, of course sir.” She reentered the room carefully. The healer took a breath and pushed it out with her entire diaphragm as though she’d studied the exact motion necessary for optimum oxygen outtake. As though she were an over compensating, mudblood swot.

“I heard your father through the door. I did not intend to eavesdrop, but I know he’s told you the worst of the situation. I’d like to reassure you that St. Mungos does not surrender her patients so easily. My team and I are mobilizing research enclaves about the continent to search for answers. We will discover a treatment.”

“And until then?”

“You will remain under internal bodily stasis and round the clock monitoring. At present, we have been able to slow the rate of blood rejection by 60%. We learned that by manipulating all bodily exit points, that only small amounts of blood can escape at any given moment. I’m sure you’ve only noticed a small amount of leaking. Think of it like a running tap- we haven’t closed the tap completely but we’ve been able to slow the leak from a gush of water to a dribble.”

“I am to remain here...until I slowly bleed to death or until my organs suffocate me?”

She took another steadying breath and Draco knew that this was the first time she’d ever had to deliver such soul wrenching news. Very strange for a master healer… “Yes sir. That is our current treatment plan. However, if I may suggest-” Healer Aloeme faltered on the last part. Nervous energy drifted off her like a breeze and it smelled sweet. He withheld the need to lick his lips.

“Speak plainly, woman.” She stepped forward then suddenly hesitated before pushing back her shoulders and committing to crossing the room. She was tall as she looked down at him but Draco got the feeling that she was accustomed to looking up at others. Draco grinned internally as she wobbled to his side. This was a proper scheme. And schemes, he could do. A fresh line of power thundered within him. This was a situation he could exploit for...something. He wasn’t quite sure yet but he knew when his instincts were singing to him. 

The healer reached into her robe pocket and produced a muggle business card. He’s seen them at shareholder’s meetings with muggle business investors stinking of blind greed and unobservant stupidity. He wrinkled his nose at the foul little paper with cheaply embossed words. Seeing his revulsion, Healer Aloeme dropped the card at his side table and wandered out the door. Draco waited until he could no longer hear her heels to inspect the card.

“ **Hermione Granger**

Medical Diagnostician & Researcher

Peer Reviewed Biomedical Author of, _The Curious Study of_

 _Magical Maladies and Malaise and Where to Find Them_.”

“Of course it's her.” Draco said as the little card burst into flames- a tribute to his severe annoyance. “Why did it always lead back to _her_?”

\--------------------------------------------

He’d called her. What other choice did he actually have? Die with pride? Ridiculous. However, as her small frame came clanging into his sick room, Draco seriously considered just letting himself waste away with some dignity.

Granger’s eyes were bright and large as she took him in. However, her eyes weren’t wide with rest and good sleep, they were wide like a person who’d just taken several potions and mixed them with strong tea to appear alert. If he knocked her back with a quill, she’d keel over with that ridiculous hair as her only pillow. “Greetings, Granger. I see you’ve been burning the wick from both ends.”

Her painted- on smile slipped and was replaced with a much more manageable scowl. “Excuse me.”

“If you are to be in my employ, I expect you to be alert not so tipped up with caffeine that you could start your own cafe.”

“I will leave. Malfoy.”

“Oh, will you?” She drew her mouth into a line before turning to leave.

“Good bye.” She said over her shoulder.

“Take a breath and come back.”

“I’m leaving.” Her back was ramrod straight but she did not touch the door handle.

“No, you won’t. No one so eager as you has anywhere else to go.” He examined his nails as he threw an indulgent reply at her stiff spine.

Her skirts whirled frantically as she turned on her heel. With surprising speed, she had her tiny index finger shoved against his nose. Granger immediately pulled back her finger when she felt his cold eyes on her skin.“I am a valued member of my profes-”

“Who said you weren’t ?” Granger’s cheeks reddened and he sneered, “You’ve told on yourself.” 

Ruby red lips opened to argue, but he held up a finger. “No, the truth is you came running to my beck and call. You’re not academically curious. You’re scrambling because no one will give you the time of day let alone within an inch of any real work.”

“You bloody wanker. How is it I spend five seconds with you and I want to rethink my whole career and raise sheep?”

“Don’t be absurd. The sheep wouldn’t have you.”

She turned on her heel and began to leave. “Are those 97 Stellaina’s?” He gestured to her kitten heels.

“Perhaps?” She angled her foot upward as though the answers to the universe were written on the bottom of her heel. 

“Intriguing.”

“I didn’t know you were so fascinated by footwear, Malfoy.”

“As if you’d have any idea what interests me, you swotty cow.” He was getting quite fed up with this game until he remembered he might have an actual need of _her_. “I apologize. That was too far.”

“What about my shoes?” He could see she had no idea what to do with a semi-sincere apology from the likes of him.

“Well, Stellaina only makes about 25 pairs of shoes per season and they only go to the most influential men and women of the age. So I find it strange that out of those 25 people you and your dear friend Aloeme both acquired the same shoes. You, I understand being our Golden girl...but with such stiff competition and quite frankly lackluster reputation, I’m surprised your healer friend did as well.”

“She borrowed them,” Hermione said with her nose sniffing the air and finding it foul. 

“Perhaps, but I’ve also found that her foot size changes a bit during the day. Her morning feet are a bit larger than her evening ones. I doubt she’d find that particularly comfortable.”

“And just what are you suggesting?” Well that did it. He had her now. 

“Enough about footwear as you said, you’re a busy professional. Lets get on with it.”

She clearly mentally stumbled at the sudden bend in the conversation but, just like a gryff, she charged ahead on a new path. And, to think, she truly was smarter than that.

“I read your file. You're aware your body is failing?”

“Indeed,” he conceded rather boredly. One could only be so upset about one’s own death for so long before the whole affair became rather dull. Her eyes bulged at his flippant response. Again, he’d shocked her. Good. 

“Yes…”she faltered as she squirmed in her seat, “well I was..well I will begin examining the particulars. I hope to discover some little tidbits that may be helpful.”

“You’ll do more than that. You will devote yourself to my case fully. Any other project can wait.”

“I’m sorry?” Her very magic began to humm. Detonation was assured and he was internally bouncing with glee. 

“You’re too young to be that hard of hearing although you always had a hard time hearing Snape reject you. I said that you will drop any other work and provide me with round the clock care and attention. You will focus everything on me.”

Granger sneered, actually sneered at him. At _him_! “Honestly, Malfoy, if you're going to talk to me like this then I'll leave. I thought you would've matured since school but I see you haven't. You're still the same arrogant --"

“I’ll see you bright and early at the manor in the morning. One of the elves will fetch you." He moved his hand dismissively as though she were a dog. "I’d pack an overnight bag as you may be staying indefinitely. I will not lay here on these scratchy sheets another day.”

“Are you gone in the head?”

He smiled truly now. He’d been waiting on this moment as his innate wolf charged at her. “Not in the slightest, my little muggle born. In fact, I’ve had a lot of time to think and observe in this antiseptic hellscape. And do you know what I’ve had the occasion to discover?”

She sighed and took the bait, “What?”

“That our little Miss Granger has been polyjuicing herself or something similar to help an old woman save face. Aloeme is getting sloppy..too tired I’d expect and she wants to end her medical contract on top. And you, my dear low born lady, can’t get an advanced position to save your life. Despite all the rainbow bullshite Kingsley spouts in the papers, no one will hire a mudblood. And you’re not the type to take that lying down or the type to let yourself get rusty.”

He knew she was too smart to pretend anymore and shite liar to boot. “Blackmail. That's your game.”

“You speak as if it wasn’t always. And I’ll do you one better as I know you’ll need more incentive to truly take this on with vigor,” He did not wink when he said this; he was a gentleman’s gentleman but he did narrow his eyes at her to evaluate her reaction and he was not disappointed at her reddened ears. “Despite what you think, my family still has weight. If you want a position worthy of your skills, I’ll give it to you.” 

“I don’t want to be given anything. I want to earn it!” She said.

“If you’re able to crack my case open, there’s absolutely no doubt that you will earn it. And even if you don’t, who gives a tosh? That’s just not how the world works. And the more you waste time wanting to earn it, the more innocent people will die of unknown diseases. And we certainly can’t have that, now can we?”

“You’re an utter prick.” Granger’s eyes whispered a different story and it was a tale of freshly kindled fire and challenge and a worthy opponent. It may have been his favorite.

However, Draco only lifted an eyebrow in response. He would be indulgent of her little moods, after all that’s what good bosses did. Accepted idiocy for exemplary results. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know it's been a while! Please let me know what you think! Your opinions really mean so much!


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